A Life of Fire
by KittySister
Summary: A story about Melanie. Starts from day before BBQ. Very interesting Twist
1. Default Chapter

Chapter I  
  
Marriage, thought Melanie, is forever.  
She pondered the thought. Rolled it over in her mind like a gumdrop candy. Forever was a long time. No, a very long time, she finally decided. Forever is the longest time you can think of, plus one day. Melanie tried to wrap her thoughts around forever, but just couldn't seem to pull it into focus. Yes, forever is a very very long time.  
And tomorrow she would be starting on forever. Tomorrow her engagement was to be announced. She was going to marry Ashley Wilkes. Lovely, funny, romantic Ashley, who all the girls adored. Her cousin, her almost brother. Sweet, dear Ashley, who read poetry and quoted Plato.Yes, everyone was happy for her. Everyone except for Melanie.  
She should have been happy. Everyone told her how wonderful it was. But she wasn't. Every time she tried to think about forever with Ashley, she felt she would cry until she flooded all of Georgia. Until she flooded the whole of the South, washing away everything that her life revolved around.  
Marriage, she thought again, is forever.  
Forever. Forever and ever and ever. With Ashley. Ashley who read poetry but couldn't feel it. Ashley who touched her with cold hands, who looked at her with eyes that bore no fire. Ashley, who lived his life like a paper cut out. A paper chain had more life that Ashley. Ashley, Ashley, Ashley....!  
Melanie wanted to hot fire of love. She wanted to feel the feelings Shakespeare wrote about, to live a life of passion. She wanted to live a life of fire.  
But there was duty. And Ashley was duty.  
She laughed, thinking of the school house talk not fit for a lady. Doody, she thought. Yes, Ashley was doody...  
A knock on her door pulled her from he silliness and back into a world she was trapped in.  
"Yes, it's unlocked. Please, come in." Melanie's voice was smooth and soft, like watered silk or mid-morning rose petals. Nothing of her sorrow showed.  
The door swung open and Charles walked into the room. He smiled. Such a simple smile, Melanie thought, not a care in the world. Oh lucky, lucky Charlie!  
"You look so happy, Melly!" Charles sat haphazardly on the bed beside her, almost a boyish flop. "I hate to bother you, but there is a visitor downstairs. A Mister Rhett Butler, come to wish you and Ashley luck for tomorrow."  
You and Ashley... The words stuck like summer mud. Melanie shook the thought out of her head, drawing an odd look from her brother. "Well, in that case I will pull myself away from happy thoughts and joined you down in the parlor. Do escort me, Charlie?"  
Charles stood, sweeping his arm in a low bow before gently taking Melly's hand. "It would me my pleasure, sweetest sister mine."  
She smiled. Charlie always practiced being the charming southern gentleman, but could never seem to get the right words outside of the family. One day, with the right girl... Melanie smiled now, a true smile that lit up her face and the entire room. "Shall we?"  
They stepped out of the room together, brother and sister.  
  
Chapter II  
  
There is no woman's sides; Can bide the beating of so strong a passion. Melanie's thoughts spoke with the words of Shakespeare. Her heart beat wildly, not for the man but for the words he spoke. Rhett Butler, scoundrel, vagabond, gambler... such fire burning in each word! Melly longed for the life he lived, the excitement of escape boiled in her blood.  
She sat beside Ashley, his large hands tucked between her small ones, leaning forward as if to catch every word that ushered from Rhett's mouth, trying to capture each fragment of delicious story. Those around her rightly read her pale, breathless composer, but mistakenly placed the upcoming engagement to blame.  
Rhett leaned back into the plush sofa he sat on, smiling a tiny smile, enough to give a hint at the brilliant white teeth lurking beneath. Why, he looks just like the Cheshire Cat, Melanie pondered. He shifted his weight and spoke. "It seems I have talked most the night away."  
No, no, please talk it all away, and tomorrow and all the tomorrow's after...  
"Yes, I fear the evening has quite slipped away." Ashley agreed, a slight shifting of his hands drawing Melanie to the present. "And with such excitement tomorrow..."  
He smiled at Melanie. She smiled back. "Yes, Ashley. Of course. Charles, do please escort me upstairs?"  
Charles stood, a clumsy lanky boy now, with none of the grace from before. He took her elbow and led her to the stairs. They ascended silently, only candle lit shadows for company. At the door to her room, Melanie stepped inside, only to turn quickly back to her brother. She pulled him into a tight embrace, delicate fingers threatening the more delicate embroidery on his shirt. She buried her face onto the folds of linen, nestled her face onto his shoulder. "Oh, Charles!"  
How she wished she could tell him! To lay her troubles down before him, as she had when they were children. His hand patted her back comfortingly, a puzzled look over his face. He never had understood women, not even his sister. "There, there, Melly. Don't worry about tomorrow, everything will be perfect, you'll see."  
"Yes... yes, I know." Melanie pulled her feelings inside herself, pushing tears down. "I'm just... so happy, Charlie.... Goodnight."  
He smiled, giving her shoulder one last pat. "There you go, Melly. Rest up, Sister."  
He walked down the hall to the room where he was staying. Melly watched from behind her half closed down, capturing the memory of him. She knew what she had to do. Knew the price of freedom.  
"Conceal me what I am..." Melanie whispered softly to herself. "Good bye, dear dear brother."  
She shut the door.  
  
Chapter III  
  
"O, happy dagger!" Melanie touched her hands to the sharp letter opener. She picked it up lightly, watching the light of a single dim candle flicker across its blade. It was sharp, it would do. She raised the dagger to her neck, then drew it across her unbound hair. It pulled wickedly, bringing sharp tears to her eyes. If only I had brought my sewing basket... She thought to the tiny pair of gold scissors lying in the basket. She fiercely chopped at her remained hair. She knew this was only a little pain, there would be more to come. Melanie ran her fingers though her hair. It seemed so light now. She shook her head, sending the strands swaying from side to side. Yes, it would do. She slipped her chemise over her shoulders, letting it slid softly to the floor. It bellowed around her feet in silky waves, in the mirror was reflected the new born Venus. Melly took no delight in her beauty, in fact she saw none of it. She did smile though, for once glad of her flat-chest. She ran her hands down her waist and smiled again. Reaching over her bed, she pulled on a crisp white shirt. The fabric felt strange, the stiff linen cold against her warm body. She had no idea who it had belonged to, she had found it left behind in one of the other guest rooms. Melanie slid her legs into the long trousers, then pushed her feet into the boots. The boots belonged to Charles. She always brought an extra pair tucked away in her luggage; he was always so hard on his shoes, scuffing them up to no end. She pushed the thoughts of Charles away. But, oh, how I will miss him! She wrapped her arms around herself and pushed away tears. She comforted herself with thoughts of freedom, a pushing aside of the life carved out for her. She would live her life of fire, and damn to the rest of the world. Melanie sketched a brief note. Just two simple words: I can't. I seemed to sum up everything. With that, she slipped out the window, down through one of the beautiful trees, and silently dropped to the ground. The grass had a delight spring as her feet touched it. She made her way into the forest, slowly, slowly, each step taking her away from Melanie Hamilton, closer to... that she didn't know. 


	2. The War Begins

            The war had begun.

 In the bar, there was a festive air. They had been waiting for this, for one side to fire on the other. It didn't matter who started it, only that now the waiting was over. The waiting that had clouded so much of life recently had snapped with a gun shot. And that was it. The war had begun. 

Melanie pulled her cloak tighter around her, trying to escape from the happy mood. She wanted to sink into the ground. State's rights, they said. Free the slaves, they said. Melly understood freedom. Understood it was worth fighting for. It was what both sides wanted. 

A drunken old man pushed against her, spilling beer across her legs. Melanie frowned, but forced herself not to jump away. "I wish I was a young man…" The drunk stated, spattering Melly with beer tinged breath. "Could fight those Yankees… You… you kill me one, won't ya, boy?"

Melly cringed. She wanted nothing to do with killing anyone. She felt a hand on her shoulder and jumped. 

"Sorry there, boy… might jumpy…" A good looking man took the seat beside her. "What's your name, lad?"

"Mel."

"Just Mel?" He grinned. "Enlisted yet?"

"No sir. I… I'm going to." Melanie stumbled. She had never planned on a war. She had known the news, but it had never made it into the shell around her. And now she was right in the middle of it.

"Really? You looked a might bit young…" He grinned again, roguishly. "Never mind that though, how would you like to join the 3rd?"

"I… well…" 

"Three squares a day, just marching. I doubt any of us see any action." He made a tapping motion on the bar, two drinks appear. Melly assumed the bartender brought them, but she didn't see. The soldier pushed on of the glasses towards her. "Come now, Mel… You look like a strong young lad."

Melly doubted she did. Still…. Three meals a day… but how could she hide what she was? And if she was found out… what then? Melly didn't know. It had never entered her head. She suddenly felt like crying. Instead she tasted her drink. It was bitter and harsh on her tongue. She didn't like it. She took another sip. 

The man smiled his rogue's grin again. He was used to seeing young boys just like this. No family, no hope… most likely a bastard son of some plantation owner. He could make a name for himself in the army, it would be good for the boy.

 "My name is Wesley Fair." A handshake, a pat on the back, Melanie didn't know what to do. Wars were so inconvenient. "Come with me. I'll introduce you to the lads. Then you can make your decision. We'll have a meal."

_A meal… _Melanie leapt to her feet and followed Wesley.


	3. In the Army

                At first the smell had been offensive. Different and strange, something frightening lurking just on the edge of perception… Now, it seemed comforting to Melanie. The spicy odor of men, tinged with a touch of sweat… it emanated from all of the sleeping soldiers, creating a musk that flushed through the room. Melanie had hated it once, liking more the sweet clean smell of home, but now… there was no other. It meant there were men, brothers, other fighting soldiers, each one willing to die to protect the other. It was a bond that Melanie could hold on two.

                It had been nearly a month now: a month of hard marching, of waiting for attacks that never came. Wesley had not lied, it seemed all they did was march. The food was not elegant, but it filled her stomach and gave her the strength she needed. It was a harsh life, but one Melanie felt she could handle. It had not been hard to hide her femaleness. It seemed first impressions were really the only ones that counted. She had first been seen as a male, and now to find out different would be startling, which made the men lenient with her odd behavior. So the odd little Mel didn't use a community toilet, so he didn't rush and leap into the many rivers with the others, he was just a bit shy, that was all. Easy to account for, easier than the truth.

                Melanie pulled her wool blanket tighter around her, feeling the cold touches of winter creeping into her body. The ground in the tent was still warm from the day, but the heat was quickly being stolen by the cold night air. An arm brushed against her, pulled her close and draped another blanket on her. She forced herself into a calmness she didn't feel as Wesley pressed against her back. 

                "If we share, we can both sleep under two blankets. At least we might stay warm that way." His voice was a whisper, the slight song of the south playing over his words. Captain Fair was a kind man, well spoken even in the harsh company of his men. Melanie honestly liked him, liked him more as Mel. She contrasted the dual personality as she drifted off to sleep, now warm beside Wesley.

                Wesley didn't know what was wrong with him. He pushed his morning serving of stew around the wooden bowl. He had never felt this way for any man before, was not one to chase the pretty faces of young boys as some did. He glanced at Mel, felt the flare in his heart. More than brotherly love, more than friendship… He tore his eyes away, test himself by looking at the other soldiers.

                His gaze shifted from each men… Frank, Harvey, Louis…. Nothing. He tried again, Tim, Mark, Richard…. No. He glanced back at Mel, felt the flare. He shoved stew in his mouth, vowing never to look at the young man again. He chewed, swallowed, and looked back.

                Such delicate features, dust streaked now but still speaking of southern aristocracy. Fine blonde hair matched with light eyes… But it was more than that. He pushed Mel gently with his shoulder, grinning down at the boy to produce a matching grin. It was a streak of summer lighting across a desert, like milk against tea. 

                A Wesley hated that he wanted to see it so much.


	4. Confession

            _Confession, _thought Wesley, _is the cornerstone of faith._ Seated in the dark booth, side by side with a copper screened priest, Wesley pondered the reason he had come.

            _Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…it has been two months since my last confession… and wait until you hear what I've done._

He knew the reason he had come. Knew he wanted to hear the words the priest would speak, the words that would confirm that God did love him and forgive him. Wesley placed his head in his hands, running thin fingers over his face. _If you already knew what you wanted to confess, why have you been going over nothing for close to ten minutes now._

Indeed, Wesley had managed to confess every slip of his tongue, ever slight of his mind, every deed not though of as proper. Except for one. And that he dreaded to confess, yet knew he had to talk to some one.

            "Father…" He began. "I really came hear to confess one thing…"

            "That I could tell, my son." The priest chuckled, a soft sound that reassured Wesley with its kindness. "I don't believe anyone has confessed as much as you, child. God knows what you need forgiveness for… if you would like not to talk about it…"

            "No… I do." Wesley cut him off, took a deep breath, started again. "Father, I have had… unclean thoughts about one of the boys in my battalion."

            "Please go on."

            "It's… he's…" Wesley ran his elegant fingers over his face again. "I don't know. I've never felt this way before. It's not just attraction. It's…. it's…" A deep sigh and no conclusion. Wesley didn't know what it was.

            "And you have not acted on these thoughts?"

            "No, father. Never. Perhaps I give him a little more attention then my other men… maybe a little more… closeness…"

            "But nothing more?"

            "No, sir."

            "God asks us to love all men as our brothers, and in a situation such as yours… fear and stress… the lack of the fairer sex… it is normal, my son." Another soft chuckle, even behind the wire Wesley could see the priest smile. "Acting on it, of course, is quiet another matter. Ask God to give you strength and he will."

            "It is… normal?" Wesley asked, hope filling his body.

            "Quiet normal. A man of your age was meant to court, should rightly have a girl… in dire times such as ours… Yes. It is normal. Be strong my son, and go with peace."

            "My penance, father?"

            "Yes, yes… of course. Five Hail Mary's, before you sleep, for as long as you like."

            Five Hail Mary's? Wesley didn't feel that was enough penance and said as much. The priest laughed once more. "Only to give you strength, my son. Say ten if you like. May God watch over you."

            Wesley left the confessional, feeling lighter. He smiled, kneeled before the statue of Jesus, and prayed.


End file.
